Storm
by Melitot Proud Eye
Summary: X - "Thor clocks up iards in his mother's parlor, while Frigga holds Eir's newborn daughter and tries to reason with him." Love isn't all a bed of roses, especially if you love Loki Laufeyson. [Thorki-Thunderfrost] [series]
1. Of lightning

**Notes**: part X of the series _By watchfires and thrones of crowned kings_. Thorki.  
It seems Midgard didn't enrich only Thor's _personality_ *laughs* All right, maybe I overdid it? Thor is never vulgar, but since here he's very angry... poor Frigga :  
And I gave Eir - Frigga's handmaid and goddess of healing - a daughter. At least Frigga can be a grandma while Thor and Loki are tarrying. Also, Eir's name means "help". Quite fitting, in this case.

First published on AO3 with the tags: Fights, Swearing, Sarcasm, Pseudo-Incest, Kings & Queens, Post Avengers Asgard, Slash, Hermaphrodites, double shot, Warning: Loki, Translation, Wordcount: 100-1.000.

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**Storm**

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**I**

**Of lightning**

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Loki is pissed off, what a surprise.

No, Loki is pissy and _Thor_ is pissed – but for real. Because Loki may have changed as much as he wants, but still he's offended by the most idiotic of things and in certain days one cannot even talk to him (without having their heads torn off). He and his damned piques. Together, they should have overcome these chuckholes. It seems they haven't, however; what a fucking bother.

And fuck elegant turns of phrases.

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Thor clocks up iards in his mother's parlor, while Frigga holds Eir's newborn daughter and tries to reason with him. He's asked her not to let him out of the room, even at the price of tying him down: should he step in his own chamber, in the hearing hall or even in a fucking hallway and come across Loki, thunderbolts would start flying. Outside it is hailing, by now.

"What does he think I am, his lapdog?" he bursts out, turning on himself with a snap of cape. Damn ceremonial garb. "Must I beg for his good will, now? _Again_?"

The baby wrinkles her face and wails. Frigga's glance is heavy with disapproval.

Thor opens his arms wide, exasperated.

"Is it any fault of mine that everyone is so _sensitive_?" he comments.

"Thor, a bit a patience never does harm with little ones and lovers" his mother chastises him. "Think of when you'll have children. I know that Loki expects a lot from you, but it is normal. And he's going through a difficult time."

"You mean that his cunt holds more sway than his cock, right now" he says, sarcastic.

"THOR!"

The brat's shrieks reach heights undiscovered by sound wave.

"Oh, all right, all right, I get it!" Stormy, he begins his march anew. "I can't talk freely with anyone anymore, in this palace! She is colicky, Loki rides the red tide of war, and you–maybe you too, Mother?"

He knows he's crossed the line as soon as the question comes out of his mouth. Frigga's visage turns pale and sharp.

She's ten times the king he is, because everything she says, while brusquely pointing him to the door with an arm and rocking the newborn with the other, is: "Out".

Thor hesitates, pierced by guilt. "Mother–"

"Out, son. Right now you resemble your father in the least flattering sense. Go take a walk."

"I..."

"And speak with Loki, when you've calmed down. You're both adult people."

Sovereigns' mothers know how to hush sovereigns like no victorious enemy ever will. Awkward, gabbling excuses which are not free of anger yet (_tell _him_ that he's an adult, Mother_), Thor leaves.

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"Damnation."

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Feedback=❤ :)


	2. Of snow

AN: Aand here's Loki's half. Next part of the series is porn, go to my AO3 for that :3  
Sorry about the wait, got tangled up in real life!

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**Of snow**

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It's an unutterable morning of spring: flower petals fly on a blizzard-cold gust, the sun blurs the dusty panes, little birds crow upon the gutters, and the daughter of one of the gardeners is wheezing a song with all her might – while spreading manure on the garden's flowerbeds. Under his window. Shattered in a moment of _pessimism_.

Yes, Loki is irritated. Kind of you to ask, now take that liqueur away before I shove it up your nose – carafe and tray included. Yes, I know you're just a squire. I know that messengers should neither be headed nor hanged, as well.

No, I really don't care.

"Huh. A good beginning bodes well" Sif remarks from the doorway, letting the crying boy pass.

Loki aims his gaze at her. He forbade himself to go to the official breakfast to prevent any incidents, but that doesn't mean he will refuse those who so generously offer themselves as victims.

"What do you want?" he asks, velvety.

She makes her belt dagger swing and studies the remains of the furnishings. She shrugs, distracted by the general chaos.

"Thor is looking for you."

"And he's doing it so well that it didn't occur to him to look here, in my chamber?"

Sif lets through a little smirk. "Maybe he wants to buy time."

"Oh, spare me the act" he says, resentful, turning on his heels to consume more pavement. "Say what he told you to tell me and get out. And remind him that I won't accept anything less than prostration. This time, he's truly crossed the line."

"The Norns forbid I start meddling in your business" she exclaims, offended, throwing up her hands. "_I_ learn from my mistakes, thank you!"

And she disappears offstage, swallowed by the hallway.

Loki swears, tossing a book on the floor. And bestowing a kick on his escritoire. Then he realizes he could have stuck to Sif a little enchantment-present for His Majesty – either that, or shortened her hair (_that_ would have pissed off Thor!). Instead, he let his chance slip away. He's distracted and inconclusive.

He crashes down on an armchair. Then he grits his teeth and bits the knuckles of his hand, moaning in anger, anxiety and frustration.

Curse Thor. He'll pay for this.

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As always, I couldn't find a beta for the translation. Feel free to point out mistakes and/or inaccuracies :)  
Faves & feedback=❤


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